


Malcolm in the Middle

by capalxii



Series: Longer prompt fills [6]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Multi, Office Sex, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 06:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4336553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capalxii/pseuds/capalxii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt from an anonymous tumblr user: "Something different, Malcolm is having sex with Sam in his office when Julius joins in from behind making Malcolm getting off big time." Malcolm confesses a secret fantasy to Sam, who makes it come true. My deepest apologies for the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Malcolm in the Middle

“Fuck, Sam, I thought the door-”

The designated Naughty Cupboard—Malcolm hated that fucking name, but it wasn’t as though he could send out a decree by email blast dictating that the name should be changed—the designated Naughty Cupboard had so been designated because of the inexplicable number of locks on the inside of the door. Nobody knew exactly why this one cupboard had so many locks on the inside; some said it was in preparation for a violent attack, or a zombie apocalypse, but the door itself was so flimsy that that theory held no water. It was simply a cupboard with more locks than absolutely necessary to keep people out, and the locks could only be set from the inside, and the only real reason Malcolm could ever come up for that (once he’d ruled out zombies) was that the designated Naughty Cupboard had been built with naughtiness in mind.

And so he and Sam would steal away in here sometimes, when it was not occupied by others who had decided to take a break, and then escape to the bathrooms down the hall for a quick freshening up after.

Except.

This time.

This time, the locks weren’t locked. He’d sworn he’d locked them as soon as they’d come in, and even if he hadn’t, Sam would’ve done it. Would’ve gotten on his case about it, too. Maybe a little funishment thrown in the mix. Instead, Sam was-  
Smiling? She was sitting on the desk with his jacket under her, her legs were still firmly wrapped around his waist, he was still balls-deep with nowhere to go, rock hard in spite of being half a second from being found out by whoever was opening the door, and his Sam was smiling. Not the blissed out post-orgasm smile from a few minutes earlier, when he’d stood up with the taste of her on his mouth, licking his fingers to get even more, willing his knees to stop aching because really he wasn’t done and he could ice them down later. No, this was a smile of wickedness, one that said he’d been tricked, but his Sam wouldn’t do that to him. Malcolm Tucker was paranoid about 99.99% of the human race, but Sam was the exception.

If she were smiling at him like this, it was probably for a good reason. He heard the door click closed, locks tumbling into place, and he finally, finally twisted his head around to see who it was.

“Surprise,” Sam said with a laugh.

“Fuck me,” Malcolm said.

“Well,” Julius said, “I plan to.”

*

Once upon a time, Malcolm had gotten drunk—anybody else would have barely gotten tipsy, but Malcolm’s deepest darkest secret was that he could not for the life of him hold his liquor—and Sam, who had been properly drunk on much more alcohol, had whispered in his ear as they stumbled out of a party do, “What’s your worst fantasy?”

“Julius,” he’d said, a bit loudly. It didn’t matter, because nobody had heard her question, so for all anybody knew he had simply been raging against his unseen bald life-story antagonist. “Julius Fucking Bellend. Nicholson.”

Sam’s deepest darkest secret was that, even drunk, she had a meticulous memory, so the next morning over fruit and hangovers she had smirked at him and asked, “Julius? Really?”

To which he had glowered and replied, “Fuck.”

He hadn’t thought too much of it after that.

*

But now there were hands on his hips, tugging his slacks further down, a kiss to his neck and he couldn’t really balance that well. He could feel the blush flooding his cheeks as Julius pressed his cock against him, and he looked at Sam with bewilderment and a strange sense of bashful gratefulness, right until he felt a finger inside of him. His hands slipped, suddenly damp with sweat, and he half fell on her beneath him.

She laughed, quickly silencing herself with a hand over her mouth, before pulling him to her for a kiss. “I thought you might enjoy this.”

“Is this really happening?” He craned his neck, twisting as best as he could to see behind him. “Julius-?”

“Right here, Malcolm, and yes.” Another slick finger, another burst of not-really-believing-it-oh-god-is-it-my-birthday, another groan from Malcolm as he felt himself being wrenched onto some other plane of existence. “Samantha’s very perceptive, she saw me, ah, well. She saw me watching you. And she came to me with this proposal.”

Malcolm had lost all sense of language somewhere around the word “very,” as Julius had been working him rather expertly, stretching him and seeking things with his fingers that Malcolm hadn’t figured the great lump of maddeningly attractive dough would know to seek. And so it was with some pleasant shock that he realized those fingers were leaving him, to be replaced by a cock instead.

He stared down at Sam in wonder. She grinned back up at him, and he found himself moving inside her again but he wasn’t moving, it was Julius, this was Julius fucking him and fucking her as a result, and suddenly it was almost too overwhelming. Too many hands on him, Sam’s tongue in his mouth and Julius’s cock in his arse and his cock in Sam combining to be nearly too much and it wasn’t long before his eyes were rolling back in his skull, stars bursting behind his eyelids and he was coming so hard he thought his balls were turning themselves inside out.

Not much to recall after that.

*

“Malcolm?”

In a daze, he pushed himself up. Sam was whispering his name to him, and hands—Julius’s hands, to be exact—were helping to shuffle him off her, out of her, and onto the desk. “What-?”

“Looked like you were about to pass out,” Julius said. He was pulling a condom off himself—full, Malcolm was weirdly relieved to see, and he was reminded that he had one of his own to take care of. “Actually, I think you did pass out.”

He was too smug about it. “From the shock of seeing your pasty fucking face emerge from the darkness, that’s all,” Malcolm said, and he meant it to sting.

“I’m sure,” Julius purred. He actually purred. Malcolm simultaneously wanted to punch him and suck his dick.

“Malcolm, be nice,” Sam said.

Regardless of how grateful he was to her, he tried to find it in him to be nice and couldn’t, so he settled for being not actively nasty. With a slight glare, he looked at her and said, “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you.”

“No,” she said with a smile.

“Let me know the next time you need assistance,” Julius said. He was put together again, looking none the worse for wear. He smiled at Sam. “Samantha.”

She kissed him goodbye, and Malcolm wanted to punch him in the dick with his mouth again.

He’d have to settle for inviting him over for dinner. Sam would probably approve of that.


End file.
